


Welcome to Scenic Nottingham  1/2

by Unsentimentalf



Category: Robin Hood BBC
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-01
Updated: 2010-02-01
Packaged: 2017-10-06 22:32:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/58431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Unsentimentalf/pseuds/Unsentimentalf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i> Allan pushed open the door, closed it carefully behind him.  More tables, another bar, but this time he was the object of some very attentive pairs of eyes.  Allan looked back, grinning.  This was more like it. Company. </i></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_ **Welcome to Scenic Nottingham 1/2** _

Title: Welcome to Scenic Nottingham 1/2  
Author: Unsentimental Fool  
Fandom: Robin Hood BBC  
Pairing: Allan/Guy  
Rating: 15  
Word Count: 3850  
Summary: _ Allan pushed open the door, closed it carefully behind him. More tables, another bar, but this time he was the object of some very attentive pairs of eyes. Allan looked back, grinning. This was more like it. Company. _  
Notes/Warnings: Post Season 2.  
This is not very dark or depressing, it contains no graphic sex or violence, and it has Allan in it. I'm pretty sure that I couldn't have written it. I wonder who did?

 

"The minute he steps out of that damn keep he's mine."

This wasn't getting anywhere, Allan thought, not for the first time. He was slumped in the summer grass, watching Robin standing in front of the fire and shouting at no-one in particular. Like him, Much and John were doing their best to keep out of Robin's way without actually leaving the camp. They'd been here so many times before. Nothing helped. Guy was in Nottingham Castle. He'd been there a month and was being very unobliging about coming out for long enough to die. It didn't matter how much Robin swore bloody vengeance. If the man stayed locked up in one of the most defensible fortresses in England it wasn't going to happen.

Robin was pacing again. The ground in front of the fire was crisscrossed with dirt tracks. "I could get in, disguised. One shot, that's all I need." They'd been through this endlessly. There wasn't any way to get Robin in with a weapon, less than a chance of getting him out again. They would just have to wait. Robin seemed to be finding waiting very difficult, but then Guy had murdered his girlfriend. Wife. Marian.

Allan could understand Robin's frustration. He'd been bloody fond of Marian, at times maybe more than fond, if he was honest with himself. He was pretty damn ashamed of his part in all this, and that was all Guy's fault too. But they couldn't just sit round and wait to kill Guy. They had to eat, and that meant work. Not that he was keen on work, because he wasn't, but even he could see that they weren't much cop as an outlaw band at the moment.

The first few months hadn't been too bad. Dreadful, of course, with everyone crying half the time and half the group gone, but at least they'd got moving again, got back into the swing of things, robbed a few merchants, started the food distribution going again, chased off a couple of tax collectors, Allan had thought maybe that things would be all right, in the end, when everyone got over what had happened, that winter. Maybe even Robin would be all right in the end, he had thought hopefully. People got over things, didn't they? Eventually?

Then Guy had returned to Nottingham. And the Sheriff, but no-one seemed to care much about him, even though Allan was pretty sure that most of it had been his fault as well. Since then Robin had lost all interest in anything that wasn't directly "kill Guy" related. John had tried to keep things going but it was hard with Robin like this.

This wasn't a conversation. It was a shout, and eventually it tailed off, as it had to. There wasn't any more to be said. Guy was in the castle and he wasn't coming out. Allan sighed. If he had to spend any more time with the obsessive Robin, the fluttering and anxious Much or the dour John he'd go mad himself.

After a silent supper John tugged him to one side, out of Robin's sight. "Chandler needs that money tomorrow. Can you do it?" Allan nodded. Getting in and out of Nottingham was something he was good at, even if he said so himself. "I'll go in the afternoon and be back before dark. Easy." They didn't tell Robin; mention of getting into the city would just lead to another round of argument about the castle itself. It was another quiet evening. Allan was relieved to be able to turn in early.

Friday afternoon was market day in Nottingham. It was easy enough to get into the city with the crowds. Allan found the chandler, did the delivery, genuinely pleased at the gratitude of the man. It was rare enough anyone seemed pleased with anything around him at the moment. He did a quick round of some of the group's informants and allies. Guy was still castle bound, the Sheriff back in control of the city. There were a couple of tips that might lead to pickings later, if Robin could be bothered to pursue them. More likely they'd do nothing, again, while he ranted. By late afternoon Allan had done all he could. Time to think about going back to the forest.

Allan didn't want to return. Not yet. The city was bustling around him, with people who weren't all happy by any means but weren't universally and downright miserable. Allan's place was with Robin; after everything that had happened he had no doubt of that, but that didn't mean he had to spend all his time there, did it?

There was a small tavern that the outlaw knew; quiet, and no risk of discovery. He headed off there, got a reasonably warm welcome and a couple of tankards of ale. After that, he still didn't want to go home, but he didn't want another drink either. Company, for God's sake, that wasn't bloody suicidal. Without really planning to, he'd ended up at the door of another tavern called the Peacock, one he'd been to a couple of times, with Guy.

Allan walked up to the bar, smiled nicely, dropped a silver piece in front of the barkeep and jerked his head towards the internal door. A couple of early evening drinkers watched him incuriously. The barkeep nodded, and Allan pushed open the door, closed it carefully behind him. More tables, another bar very like the front, but this time he was the object of some very attentive pairs of eyes. Allan looked back, grinning. This was more like it. Company.

An hour or so later he'd pounded out some of his frustrations in a stranger's flesh and was feeling pretty good about things. Stewart, the man was called. Allan made an effort to remember; the chap had been pretty co-operative and any moaning had definitely been the right sort, for a change. He made his reluctant farewell and left. It was getting dark; he slipped past the guards at the gate while they were talking to a merchant and headed off home. The next day he even managed to make the others laugh a couple of times.

After that Allan found a number of excuses to visit Nottingham in the evenings. He was hardly a regular, but he managed to end up in the Peacock once a fortnight or so. It wasn't always as good as that first time but it was usually worth going, and it made the long days in Sherwood pass a little bit quicker. He thought it was helping the others too, having him a bit more lively around the place. Certainly worth the very small amount of silver he took off the top of the regular deliveries to pay for it.

Allan really, honestly hadn't ever thought that what was, in hindsight, pretty predictable might happen. It was a Friday evening again. He'd finished what he considered his work, had come over, sat down for a drink in the back bar with a couple of the lads, easy, relaxed, not yet committed to anything in particular; maybe they'd head upstairs in a bit. Right now they were having a drink and talking, no rush. A warm hand on his knee, his arm round a different shoulder, his head back, laughing at a joke. God, this was better than the forest camp.

The door opened and they all looked up, the normal reaction, check out the newcomer, maybe catch an eye. The man who walked in knew the game as well as they did, judging from his slow glance around the room. Allan did a double take, made a horrified and unintended squawk of recognition. Guy looked straight at him and stopped.

There was a pause that felt to Allan like several hours. Then Guy jerked his head towards the stairs. Allan didn't even think of doing anything else. He followed the black clad figure up the creaking staircase, head spinning. God, he thought, you've really done it now. You're going to die this time, for sure.

The front room was free. It wasn't much; a bed barely big enough for its intended purpose squeezed up against the loosely shuttered window. There wasn't anywhere to stand, except in the doorway and Guy was occupying that spot. Reluctantly, Allan sat down on the bed. Guy swung the door closed, pushed the bolt. He still hadn't said anything. He looked rough, Allan thought, pale and slightly puffy cheeked, as if he'd been ill. His hair hadn't been trimmed in a while. The crispness of his previous appearance had gone; he looked wilder, unpredictable. His eyes were burning. Allan swallowed uncomfortably.

"Fancy meeting you here!" he said, not very hopeful but determined to try to talk his way out. "How have you been? We heard you were back." He nearly said "Do you come here often?" managed to stop himself just in time.

Guy's long sword slid out of its black sheath with a hiss. Allan felt his skin go cold, and he fell silent. "Allan." Guy's voice was lower than he'd remembered, harsher. "You are going to get me Locksley." He wasn't taking about the estate.

Allan swallowed again. With more courage than he'd known he possessed, he shook his head. "No, I'm not. I'm not doing that again. I'd rather die." He really didn't want to die, but he found that he could quite definitely not face life as a traitor again. He fought to keep Guy's dark gaze. He really, really didn't want to die. Maybe if he begged the man. He could cry, quite easily he imagined, right at the moment.

Guy finally nodded slightly, sheathed the sword. Allan nearly collapsed with relief. "OK, so I'm going now, right? Glad we had this chat. I won't tell anyone I saw you." As he pushed himself off the bed, Guy's hand stretched out over the door bolt. Allan exhaled miserably. What now?

"Don't you want what you came for?"

For a moment he thought Guy was offering him money, then he understood. Guy hadn't taken his eyes off his face, but now they flicked down his body, up again. Allan shook his head, shocked. "You killed Marian." As soon as he said it he cursed his own stupidity. Rile the man, why don't you? Get yourself killed.

Guy seemed calm, and that was frightening enough. "That isn't an answer."

No, it wasn't. But he wasn't Guy's toy any more. Allan opened his mouth to say so, and failed. Guy's hands were on the various straps across the front of the unfamiliar jacket, shrugging it off to the floor. The shape of his body under his shirt was suddenly mesmerising. Allan did want this. He remembered it, and he wanted it. Guy read his face, and smiled, very slightly.

"You had better take your clothes off, then. Hadn't you?"

Stripping in front of those eyes was...odd. God knows, the man had seen it all before, though he watched as intently as if it were new. Allan was painfully self conscious. It didn't seem to be inhibiting anything, he thought as he tugged his breeches down and Guy's thin smile widened slightly. The man finally detached himself from the door frame and took the pace to the bed. Allan's heart was pounding. What the hell was he doing? This was going to go so wrong.

It went all right. Better than all right. Guy might not speak a word to him apart from the occasional curt command, might be rougher than Allan remembered, but the complex and never entirely fathomable things that he seemed to want from sex still apparently included a certain loss of control on Allan's part, and Allan wasn't complaining about that. He lay flat on the bed, recovering his breath, as Guy dressed without looking at him.

Guy sat on the bed, lacing his boots. Done, he glanced across at Allan. "Friday evenings, then."

Allan swallowed. "I can't; not often. They'll ask questions."

"Tell them you've found a lover." Guy's voice was dry. Allan hitched himself up on his shoulders, dumbfounded. "I can't tell them..." He paused. "A girl, you mean." Guy didn't bother replying. Allan though about it for a few seconds. That might work. If he wanted to do this.

"It's bloody dangerous, Guy. I don't know about this at all. "

Guy stood up, opened the door. "Friday evenings." And he was gone.

Allan dressed, walked through the bar and out without looking at anyone else. Gods. All he'd wanted was a bit of company. What the hell had he got himself into now?"

It was still just about light. Allan walked slowly towards the merchant's section of the city. He had a fairly good idea of where he was going. She'd been the subject of some gossip; a pretty young woman married off to one of the older merchants, who didn't seem particularly interested in keeping as close to her husband's side as a respectable married woman should. Evelyn, her name was.

Allan found the house, mostly dark. He climbed quietly over the back wall and had a look round. The woman was in the parlour, embroidering in front of the fire; he took a glance through the still opened shutters. He'd remember her, the room, the house, the husband's name. This would do. If he did it. He hadn't made his mind up yet.

"A girl?" Robin didn't have to sound so surprised, Allan thought. He shuffled his feet as his friends looked at him. What were they looking like that for? Wasn't he allowed to have a life, for God's sake?

"Who's the husband, Allan?" Robin sounded like he was fighting back amusement, and that was rare enough theses days. Allan winced. "She hasn't got..well, she has, technically, but they're sort of separated. Only in the same house."

"In the same bed, you mean." Much was interrupting now. "It's adultery, Allan. You should be ashamed." Allan glared at him, but Robin spoke first. "Leave the poor man alone, Much. He's clearly besotted." He shook his head slightly, "Are you sure this is safe? Visiting the city at the same time every week?

"It's the only time her husband's away. I'll be bloody careful, you can be sure of that." Allan was pretty sure that his unease would be read as embarrassment. He shouldn't be doing this. It wasn't like last time though. He wasn't going to tell Robin's bitterest enemy anything at all, do anything for him. Just screw him. Robin was hardly likely to understand that if he found out. So Allan would have to be sure he didn't get caught.

That Friday the hesitant outlaw pushed the door open at the Peacock in the early evening. A handful of men that he knew, none in black leather. He took a breath, ordered a drink, sat down to chat, turned down a couple of offers with a smile. He was waiting for someone...' Half an hour later Guy arrived. Allan got to his feet without needing to be told, anticipation and fear whispering down his spine. He swaggered home a couple of hours later, his lip bleeding, red marks on his neck, grinned at John's caustic comments. This was OK.

The next week Guy wasn't there. Allan waited for a couple of hours, walked home. Maybe that was it. But the week after the man was back, arriving half an hour after him again.

The gang was mostly working properly again. Robin still fretted about Gisborne, safe in his castle, but at least he seemed to have remembered why they were there. They were busy; with the tips that Allan was picking up in Nottingham there was no shortage of victims, and as always no shortage of the people who needed what they could steal. Allan's small store of silver got a bit bigger, just in case. It wouldn't do to run short for the Peacock.

It was a dull autumn day drizzling with rain, when Robin jumped lightly from the crook of the willow branch onto the seat of the high wagon and wrestled the driver to the ground. The other three were running in, swords ready; Allan had heard that there were silks in this one, and probably a guard or two.. When the eight soldiers in castle livery burst out through the back the outlaws were momentarily overwhelmed.

Allan found himself fighting two men with short swords. He parried desperately, his feet skidding in the mud, but he wasn't good, like Robin. Like Guy. He blocked a blow from one, saw with a flash of despair the sword of the other one swinging at his chest. He jumped backwards, too late, felt the most astounding pain and fell to his knees. An arrow took one of his opponents and the other was running, as Allan fell forward into unconsciousness.

He'd missed two Fridays at least, maybe three. Allan was arguing with Robin. "I just need to see Evelyn. I can get into Nottingham and out again, no trouble. I'l be back shortly after dark."

Robin shook his head. "Give it another week. You might be able to get in and out, but can you run from an angry husband? She'll be there next week."

She might not be. Guy must think he'd given up. Robin wasn't going to budge. Allan surrendered in the end, curled up under his cloak, trying to get comfortable around the soreness. He closed his eyes, thought of cool calculating eyes. He'd be there next week, must be.

Next Friday Allan wasn't arguing. He just went. He was pretty sure that Robin would let him go without pursuit. The walk to Nottingham was enough to make him sweat and by the time he got into the city he was wincing at each step. He collapsed into a seat at the Peacock, barely aware of the man buying him a drink but grateful for the strong ale. If Guy didn't come he thought he'd probably sleep here, in the taproom. He wasn't sure that he could get back tonight.

Allan didn't hear the door open, but he looked up at the hand on his shoulder. Guy was expressionless as usual. Allan drained his mug and staggered after him up the stairs. He'd never been so glad to sit down on that bed.

Guy was standing at the door again, watching him. "Show me." Allan pulled off his jacket and shirt, trying not to scream, displayed the fresh bandages across his chest. Guy moved, pulling his belt knife and pushing him flat to the bed. The knife was tearing through the linen. Allan protested, "They were clean on this morning" but Guy wasn't interested.

The scar ran for a good eight inches across Allan's chest. Much's careful stitches were still there; tiny drops of blood oozed around them. The walk hadn't done him any good at all. Guy was resting on Allan's thighs, running a finger gently along the length of the scar. He glanced at his bloodied finger, licked it, seemingly automatically. Allan felt a twitch of arousal. From the direction of his glance Guy felt it too..

"I am going to flog the man who did this." His voice was conversational. Allan blinked. He hadn't thought the man would care. Guy's voice rose slightly, "He swore that he'd killed you. I paid him the bounty, half of it, since there was no body. I'm going to get every copper back from the lying bastard and then I'll beat him bloody personally."

Allan shivered, protested, "You paid someone to kill me? What did you do that for?" He was suddenly and uncomfortably aware of his vulnerable position under the man, of the knife in Guy's hand.

Guy looked down at him. "You're going to die, you know. All of you. There's not enough of you. I can keep sending men until someone succeeds." He didn't see to be offering any alternative, Allan noted gloomily. "Robin might kill you first." he suggested, then rather wished he'd kept quiet. Guy shrugged. "He might well." He didn't seem unduly depressed by the prospect. Not for the first time Allan wondered if this man was entirely sane.

Guy ran a finger over the scar again. "What the hell am I meant to do with you in this state?" He sounded genuinely annoyed. Allan started to apologise.

"Never mind." Guy's hands were at the cords of Allan's breeches. Allan propped himself up to reach towards Guy's groin, but the man pushed him back down. "Just keep still, for God's sake." Allan gazed at the timber rafters. He could feel the tug around his hips and he was hard in anticipation of familiar hands. He didn't expect the tongue running up his thigh and his gasp was rather louder than he'd have liked.

Guy was...this he had to see. Allan propped himself up on his elbows to watch the straggling black hair brushing over his stomach, the hands on his thighs. He could feel lips and tongue and, oh God, teeth. He collapsed back again, the pain in his chest forgotten. He had a horrible presentiment that this was some sort of punishment; God, please, I 'm sorry for everything, honest, just don't let the man stop.

Obviously he hadn't been that wicked. Allan lay flat, panting helplessly, every nerve ending numb. Guy stood over him, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "Doesn't hurt to keep in practice," he commented.

Allan looked blank. "Practice? Practice for what?"

"I'm not always screwing my social inferiors," Guy informed him, with rare amusement. "Just don't expect it to happen again." Allan nodded helplessly. Right now he'd have agreed with anything the man said.

"Stay here. You'll not make it back in the dark. I'll pay for the room." Guy picked up his swordbelt and left. Allan dropped almost instantly off to sleep.

After that things were a little more relaxed between them. They still didn't talk but Allan though the silences were a little more sociable, the pauses just a little closer to just holding onto each other. Occasionally a full five minutes might pass between the final gasps and the creak of Guy's boots going downstairs.  
.  
Winter in Sherwood was always cold and miserable. Somehow it was more noticeable now that there were just the four of them. Much did his best with the cooking, but they were still hungry more often than not. The villages did worse and there was less that they could do for them. The caravans became less frequent, game was harder to find, no-one travelled so there was no-one to rob.

Still, Allan had his Friday nights, thanks to his dwindling hoard of silver. Sometimes Guy didn't come; he never offered an explanation. Sometimes Allan couldn't get away. Most Friday nights though he spent in a warm room above the Peacock taproom having about as good a time as he could imagine. That got him through the week.

Until one Friday night went wrong.


	2. Welcome to Scenic Nottingham  2/2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _ The room stank of wine and sweat. The counterpane had dark damp patches. Guy had a set of long shallow scratches up one arm. Guy looked around, following Allan's glance, then back at him. "Get in here and shut the damn door." _

_ **Welcome to Scenic Nottingham 2/2 (Allan/Guy)** _

Title: Welcome to Scenic Nottingham 2/2  
Author: Unsentimental Fool  
Fandom: Robin Hood BBC  
Pairing: Allan/Guy  
Rating: 15  
Word Count: 4000  
Summary: _ The room stank of wine and sweat. The counterpane had dark damp patches. Guy had a set of long shallow scratches up one arm. Guy looked around, following Allan's glance, then back at him. "Get in here and shut the damn door." _  
Notes/Warnings: Post Season 2.  
Nottingham needs a touch of scene, and it's nice to write someone happy for a change. No doubt it will be back to angst as usual soon enough.

"Keep back" Robin was pulling him into the shadows again. Allan sighed. "I don't think he's coming, Robin. We should go."

"I don't need you here." Robin's voice was stressed. "Go and find Evelyn, for God's sake. But I'm staying." That meant that Allan would have to stay too. He didn't know what would happen if Guy walked through the small side gate. He didn't know if he'd try to stop Robin or not. But he wasn't going to go and sit in the Peacock and wait to see if Guy made it there alive.

A friendly servant had reported on Guy's routine on Friday nights. A guard would deliver a message, and he'd leave for a couple of hours, out and in by the small gate. The servant hadn't been able to find out where he went, but Robin didn't care. All he needed to do was to wait in the shadows, put a shaft through the man, end this. Would Guy come to the tavern if he wasn't there? Allan hoped desperately that someone was always set to watch the place and report back to Guy. If he wasn't there, Guy would stay at home.

Unless the man fancied a bit of variety. A leaden feeling hit Allan. He had no idea what Guy did on the Fridays that he didn't come. A twinge of jealousy hit him, then horror. If Guy screwed other men at the Peacock Robin would kill him tonight. It was a long, cold and tormenting wait, but Guy didn't come. Around midnight Allan finally persuaded Robin home. "Next week." Robin promised grimly. "Every week until he comes."

Next week was the same. Allan was miserable and terrified. How long would the man wait? How long would Robin stalk the gate? He began to wonder if he could get a message to Guy during the week; he'd promised himself that he'd never start that again but this was different. This was the man's life at risk. And then he remembered that he was meant to want Guy dead, and he felt even worse.

Midweek things at the camp blew up. Someone had commented about going into Nottingham and Robin had growled that he'd be there on Friday.

"No." Much's voice was high, too fast. "You are not going there on Friday."   
"Much." Robin's voice was dangerously low.   
"No! Don't you know what the date is? This time last year we were in the Holy Land. A year ago on Friday.." His voice tailed off, then started again. "So we all need to be here, together."

"No, Much." Robin sounded absolute, but his former servant wasn't to be quietened. "Yes, Robin. We loved her too, remember. It's not just about you, it's about us, and what we ought to do. And what we ought to do is to remember her for one day, not run round Nottingham visiting adulterous girlfriends or trying to shoot people." Much hadn't warmed to Allan's visits to Evelyn. It took more than a few months to accustom him to an idea.

"I remember her every day.' Robin said, bleak and quiet, but Much was determined. So on Friday Allan stood and listened as first Much then John stumbled over a speech. He added a few words of his own; not good ones but at least they came out in the right order. He did miss her. He did want vengeance on her killer. He just didn't want her killer to be Guy.

Robin was silent.

Much had pulled out all the stops on dinner. There was strong wine. They ate too much, drank far too much and bickered again, all the old pain fresh. Allan looked round at the late night camp, lit by spitting flames in the rain. Robin was lying face down, head cradled in his hands. John was sitting at the edge of the camp, pulling strips of bark off the tree with his knife and swearing quietly. Much was at the other end of the camp, trying to clear up the food. He was sniffling, pretending he wasn't. Not one of the three would talk to Allan.

Allan took a final look round. "I'm not staying here tonight," he announced, slightly drunkenly, and walked out.

It had been dark for hours. Getting into the city was tricky; Allan had to resort to bribery, which he hated; not only did it get you noticed but it cost money. It was hours after he'd normally be at the Peacock. There was no point in going there, but he found himself pushing open the door anyway. A drink with friends, maybe. Some civilised conversation. He didn't need anything more tonight. What he wanted was a different matter.

The barkeep greeted him with a slight frown, but maybe it was the lateness. There was no-one Allan knew in, so he settled down with a tankard of ale near the fire. He'd have a drink or two and go home.

A clatter down the stairs. Stewart. Allan smiled; the chap was usually good for a drink and a bit of gossip. Allan might not be in the market himself but that didn't stop him being interested in who was up to what with whom. Stewart caught his eye and flinched visibly, glancing back up the stairs, then he was through the door and away. The barkeep was polishing the glasses very industriously, carefully not looking at Allan.

Allan wasn't stupid, not by a long way. He was on his feet, heading for the stairs, ignoring the shout from behind the bar. There were three rooms up there; Allan apologised briefly to the occupants of the first, declined an unlikely sounding proposal from the second and kicked a boot hard against the door of the front room.

As he walked in, Guy was rolling off the bed, sword in his hand. It would have been more impressive if he'd still been able to focus. As it was Allan thought that the man was more likely to kill himself with the sword than anyone else, particularly since he was completely naked.

Guy finally registered the identity of the intruder and dropped the sword and himself back on the bed. "I wasn't expecting to see you tonight." His voice was slurred.

"I can see that." The room stank of wine and sweat. The counterpane had dark damp patches. Guy had a set of long shallow scratches up one arm. Guy looked around, following Allan's glance, then back at him. "Get in here and shut the damn door."

Allan slammed the door shut, unaccountably angry. "Is this what you normally do when I don't turn up?" Guy snorted. "There is nothing normal about today." He shoved the sword off the bed. "Since you're here." He frowned. "Why the hell are you here? Don't you know what day it is?"

"Yes." Allan made no move to the bed. "Yes of course I damn well know."

"So shouldn't you be holding his hand? Or has he got over her already?"

"Got over her?" Allan's fist smashed into Guy's face; the man rolled away from the blow with the ease of a drunk. Half of Allan's mind was horrified at his temerity in hitting Guy, of all people. The other half was furiously angry on Robin's behalf.

"Twelve months of absolute bloody hell is what it's been like out there. While you've been sitting safely behind your castle walls and screwing anyone you fancy, Robin has been grieving. We all have. You smug, murdering bastard. I hope he does kill you."

Guy seemed to have sobered up. He was still sitting on the bed, but he was watching Allan steadily. "So why are you here?"

Allan ran a hand through his hair. "Because I can't take it, OK? It\s not getting any better. It won't until he's killed you. And I know I just said I wanted that but God knows I don't."

"Don't you?" Guy sounded slightly surprised. Allan shook his head.

Guy leaned back on the bed, hands behind his head. "It may surprise you to hear that I'm not having a particularly good time either, these little sessions apart. I've had enough of it, Allan. I'm not prepared to start another year of this."

Allan blinked. "So what are you going to do?"

"I'm going to pay a visit to your leader."

Allan shook his head. "He'll kill you before you get anywhere near him. And you don't know where to find him." He shook his head at Guy's raised eyebrow. "No! I told you months ago, no."

"Tonight." Guy stood up, seized his arm. "I doubt that we'll be meeting here on Friday nights again. Might as well make the most of this before we leave."

Allan glanced at Guy's groin; clearly the man had recovered from his earlier exertions. Allan's mind was in turmoil but his body knew what it wanted. He wasn't going to betray Robin, he told himself. Guy couldn't make him. But this might really be the last time.. With a sigh he let himself be pulled down onto the bed. Guy's mouth was on his, hands at his clothes. Forget about what might happen, he told himself. Just do this now.

Afterwards he felt better, but he still argued. It was betrayal, to bring an enemy to their camp in the middle of the night, to stop Robin killing Guy outright. Guy claimed otherwise. Allan could have his damn sword, if he insisted. He wasn't expecting Allan to protect him from the others, just to buy him a chance to speak. And he'd not find his way again in daylight to a camp he was led to in the darkness. In the end Allen gave in, because the alternative was to stand at that gate every Friday night and wait for Robin to kill Guy. He wasn't going to tell Guy about that; he didn't want guards there next week for Robin, and he didn't know how to warn either man without giving too much away.

A hundred yards from home and Allan whistled the all clear. Betrayal, he thought, wretchedly; bringing an enemy into the camp without warning. He strode forward, shouting for Robin. He'd wake the camp at least. Two figures were still sitting there by the dying fire, awake and apparently talking. Robin stood and turned as Allan walked into the firelight, squinting at the figure behind him.

"Who's that?"

"Robin. He wants to talk, OK? Just let him speak first, please? Here's his sword." Allan tossed the scabbard down in front of Robin, who scooped it up in one had, held it out to see the pattern in the firelight.

"Gisborne!" His own sword was out of its sheath. Allan stepped in the way, hands up. Gods, please don't let him kill me. "Robin. He's unarmed. He's a captive, Robin." A slight exaggeration but it might help. "You've got to wait, hear what he has to say." God knows what that might be. He sure as hell hoped that Guy had that bit covered.

Something hit Allan from the side and he was down in the mud, scrabbling at the weight above him. John, hissing "Traitor". Allan squirmed, desperate to see what was going on behind him, managed to turn. Guy had walked into the firelight, and Robin had come forward to meet him, sword bared. John hadn't let go of him but he was watching too. Allan couldn't see Much.

"I'm going to kill you" Robin's voice was taut with anger, the sword gripped tight in front of him.

Guy nodded. "So I understand." His hands hung loose by his sides.

"Why did you come?" Robin shook his head. "You've been hiding for months; why did you come tonight?"

Guy's lips twisted. "I'm tired of waiting for an arrow in the back. Kill me now or leave me alone."

Allan winced. He'd hoped Guy had more than that. Allan had watched the murderous anger build for a full year. Robin was quite capable of striking the man down, unarmed or not.

"You want me to what? Look into your eyes as I stick a sword through your guts? Leave you dying on the ground? I can do that, Guy." Robin's bitterness hurt to hear. "I've seen how it's done."

Allan bit his lip. Don't hit back, he thought. Don't pretend you don't care. Don't tell him she deserved it. Don't apologise. Gods, just don't say anything, or he'll kill you for sure. Guy was still and silent in the firelight, waiting.

Allan didn't want the sudden attention as Robin turned his head. "How long has he been working for you this time?" John gripped his arms tightly. He wanted to plead his innocence, but he had to wait for Guy to answer first.

Guy's voice was scornful. "When a tool breaks, I don't pick it up again. Your turncoat's no business of mine. Any of your men would have done to bring me here. That's the one I found first. It is, after all, what you wanted, isn't it?" There was a challenge in that tone that made Allan fret. Don't goad him, he muttered to himself silently. John had let him go; he stood up slowly. The confrontation was a bare few yards from him. Much was watching from the dark, behind Guy.

Robin lunged without warning and Allan gasped. Guy didn't move, but the sword veered at the last second, tore across his right side. There was a sharp cry and Guy's hands were to his jacket, came away black in the firelight. He staggered backwards, but didn't fall. He was still watching Robin, eyes huge and dark.

The blade angled backwards, and Robin hit Guy in the face, hilt first. This time the man did fall, lay sprawled on the ground, still struggling to look up at Robin, who reversed the sword again, held its tip to his throat. "Tie him up." The command was to the watchers in general. Allan came forward with John. He didn't dare to be gentle; he yanked the rope tightly behind Guy's back and the man winced. Guy was bleeding heavily from the gash along his side.

"What are you going to do?" Allan asked since it seemed no-one else was going to. Robin looked at him bleakly. "I'm going to hang him in the morning. That's justice." Allan had no doubt that he meant it. He clenched his fist, nails in his palm. He had to do something. Guy deserved this, certainly, but still Allan didn't want to watch him die.

Allan could release him, on his watch. Then he'd have to go himself; there would be no hiding collusion. Back to the castle, with Guy. For a moment that seemed like a good plan.

Back to the castle, and the wait for an arrow in the back, wait to see which of them died first. Better to watch the man hang, than that. They could leave, just go somewhere else. If Guy had been prepared to do that, he'd have gone months ago. And there was nowhere that Robin wouldn't hunt them down. Besides, he'd promised he'd stay.

Late into the night Allan brought water to the captive. No-one else had seen fit to, or to take a look at the long bloody line across his ribs. Guy was conscious, barely. He drank thirstily, let Allan cut his jacket and shirt away around the clotting blood, wash it down. It bled again but only a little.

Allan crouched down, his hand on familiar skin. "I can't release you," he muttered. Guy nodded, stirred enough to catch the other hand, closed his eyes. Allan waited until he was sure the man was unconscious, then pulled his hand away, found a blanket to cover Guy, let him sleep. It wouldn't be long till morning.

Robin was up at dawn. Guy was still asleep, under the blanket, looking younger somehow. Allan was wide awake despite the long night. He watched in despair as Robin tossed a rope around a tree branch, knotted the noose. It wouldn't work, but he had to try.

"Robin." The man looked round, expressionless. "Do you... do we have to do this?"

Robin frowned. "Don't you want justice for Marian?"

"Yes!" Allan waved his hands helplessly. "It's not that. It's just... this isn't right."

"Feels pretty damn right to me." Robin tugged on the rope. "A few minutes and it will be over, Allan. We can move on. You can go back to Evelyn in town on a Friday night, instead of waiting for the bastard. That's got to be worth this death on its own." His smile was twisted.

"Evelyn doesn't exist." Allan couldn't believe he just said that. Robin was staring at him. "What do you mean, she doesn't exist? I've seen her!"

Shit. No going back now. "She's not my girl. I just picked someone believable. I lied."

"What the hell have you been doing on Friday nights, then?" Robin glanced at Guy, back to Allan. "You treacherous, two faced shit. You've been reporting to him, haven't you? How much did he pay you?"

Allan tried not to cringe under Robin's fury. "No! I've told him nothing at all, not ever. He's given me nothing. He's not even asked about you, not once."

"So what the hell were you doing with him ?" Robin looked genuinely baffled, still furious. The others were awake, scrambling to join Robin. Allan wanted to die. There was a good chance, he thought, that he was about to. There was room for another noose. He closed his eyes.

"We went to bed."

There was silence. Eventually he opened his eyes. It was almost funny, their faces. Almost.

At last Robin spoke. "You've been screwing Gisborne." Allan nodded. "For six months." He nodded again. "For six months I've been thinking of nothing but catching him unguarded, just for a second, and all that time you've been.. I don't want to think of what you've been doing with him... every Friday night." Robin paused, realisation hitting. "When he leaves the castle; that's you. All that time you waited with me, and you knew."

Put like that, it didn't seem so good, Allan thought. He looked at Robin without much hope. "It seemed like a good idea at the time."

Robin shook his head, dazed. "Gisborne. For God's sake, Allan, if it has to be men couldn't you find anyone else? Anyone? Even the bloody Sheriff would be better than this."

Allan shrugged. "He's pretty good at it." he offered, helplessly.

There was, unbelievably, a chortle. From Much. Allan would have sworn that Much would be revolted and disgusted and would probably never shut up about how revolted and disgusted he was for the rest of Allan's life or until Allan strangled him. Right now however he was desperately trying to stifle the giggles. Allan glared at him. This really wasn't helping.

Robin ignored Much. He was still staring at Allan, who wished that he'd stop. "But he wanted Marian. He was in love with her. How could he be a sodomite?" Allan winced at the term. He liked to think of it as...well, he liked not to think about it at all to be honest. It was just what he did. "He's not very choosy?" he offered. The chortle was louder.

This time Robin's lips seemed to twitch. "Obviously." he said, looking Allan up and down. "Hey!" Allan said, indignant. "I'm pretty good at it too, you know."

Robin shook his head. "Bloody hell, Allan. You never cease to surprise me. I ought to string up the pair of you." He glanced down at Guy, now thoroughly awake and keeping absolutely silent. "You deserve to be hanged, Gisborne. If there's any justice in the world, one day you will be. But I'm not going to kill Allan's lover in front of him, however insane his choice is. The man's earned that much, unlike you." He looked back at Allan. "Get him out of here."

Allan nodded. "And then?" he dared to ask.

"Then we have work to do." Robin almost smiled. "Staying one step ahead of this bastard, for a start."

He frowned at Allan. "I really don't want to know what you do on Friday nights. Nothing has happened in the last six months to suggest that anyone's betraying us. If anything does happen, you are going to be dangling from that tree. Understand?"

Allan nodded. "It won't." It was far, far more than he could have expected.

"So, get him out of here. If he sets one foot in the forest again, he's mine." Robin glared down at Guy. "If that happens, Allan will be finding himself a new friend."

Wisely, Guy remained silent. Allan was sawing at the ropes with his belt knife. He helped the injured man up and blindfolded him without prompting. An arm around Guy's waist helped him stumble through the forest. After about half an hour, Guy spoke for the first time.

"God, I hate that man."

Allan grinned. "He spared your life." he pointed out.

"Yes,"

They went on some way.

"I am not" Guy said coldly, "your lover. You are a diversion, barely that. If I take a lover he is going to be rather better bred than a common thief."

Allan nodded, remembered that Guy couldn't see him. "Of course," he agreed, trying sound serious.

"So next time you save my life, you can damn well do it in a less embarrassing manner." He sounded genuinely annoyed. Allan was tempted to abandon him, but he wasn't yet close enough to the forest edge to find his way out, and that injury was bleeding again. "Sorry." Guy snorted, but said no more.

At the edge of the forest Allan removed the blindfold. It was a short walk to the gates from here and Gisborne's own men on guard. Guy was staggering but he could make a couple of hundred yards on his own, and if not someone would find him soon enough. Guy wasn't even looking at him.

Allan took a breath. He had to know where they were. "Friday?" he asked, attempting casual. Guy glanced at him, cold, controlled. "No." Allan felt his spine sag. He'd get over it, he told himself. Still it was surprisingly painful.

Guy's hand was on his blood soaked side. "Two weeks, minimum. Probably three. Unlike you, I have no need to crawl around Nottingham bleeding into the gutters in a desperate search for a shag."

"No. Yes. Two weeks. I'll be there. " Allan turned, nearly ran.

Walking back into the camp was one of the most difficult things Allan could remember having to do. He had no illusions that Robin's act of mercy would mean the end of the matter.

Robin was feathering arrows, carefully binding the duck feathers onto the shafts. As Allan strode in he didn't look up. Much and John were standing in the open space in the middle of the camp, staring at Allan. Much actually had his mouth open.

Hell with this. Allan nodded to the pair, headed towards the small cave entrance. He could judge just how much trouble he was in from the fact that there was not a sound behind him as he rummaged through Much's carefully ordered stores. As he'd thought; a wineskin. He unstoppered it, tipped his head back and drank half the contents. That helped quite a lot.

The men were at the entrance now. Robin had joined them. Allan looked rather longingly at the open space behind them. He stoppered the wine, tossed it to John, spread his hands wide.

"I can see that you're all a bit upset right now." Maybe he should have had the rest of the wine himself. He shrugged. "What can I say? Guess I'm just a bit of a rebel."

The river was bloody cold in midwinter. But, Allan thought, huddling under the blanket with his hands out to the warm fire, it could be worse. He reached out both hands for the mug that Much, still speechless, passed down to him. Warmed wine, and the man had spiced it. Allan took a long sip, sighed. Things could be a hell of a lot worse. Unbidden, a grin spread over his face. Thirteen days, and counting.


End file.
